A Lie Upon Your Lips
by Cae Thomas aka CNL
Summary: Some things simply must remain hidden. We all have our secrets, after all. But what happens when the secret you hold could lead to your death? Will you find help in someone with a secret of their own? This is a little different from my usual work.
1. Knife Blood Nightmare

He slid the blade along his wrist, sucking in a tight breath as it cut through his skin. He sighed as the blood trickled out, easing his pain almost instantly. This was his only comfort during the long months he spent alone. He dropped the blade back into the box he'd taken it from, leaning back against his bed. He'd needed this. He flexed his hand. The bleeding had stopped. He picked up the blade and made another cut just above the first.

Harry Potter took a deep breath, closing his eyes as the blood dripped from his arm to the floor, leaving small splatters against the wood. He'd have to remember to clean that up before the Dursleys found it. For now, he left himself bask in this glow of comfort. He felt his skin tightening as the blood dried once more. He reached into the box beside him, pulling out the cloth he kept there. He wiped the blood from the blade, his arm, and finally the floor, before tossing both the rag and blade back into the box and stowing it beneath the loose floor boards under his bed.

Harry glanced at the clock. Twelve thirty; he felt suddenly tired as he stood, changed into his pajamas, and slipped into bed. He laid in the darkness, looking down at the cuts on his arm as the night fell upon them. He couldn't heal them, not by magic. It would be another year before he turned seventeen, another year before he could perform magic outside of school. For now, they would have to heal on there own, over time—and he would have to hide them. He yawned, turning on his side and settling down into the comfort of his bed, succumbing to the call of sleep.

***

Draco Malfoy moaned deeply, thrusting his hips back against the body behind him. "_Fuck_, Blaise!" he groaned, clutching at the bed. Blaise Zabini gripped the blonde's hips, pounding into him with a fervent rhythm. Draco let out a scream as his body froze, his orgasm ripping through him with an indescribable amount of force. Blaise started to move faster, his thrusts becoming desperate as he reached closer and closer to completion. He groaned his release, collapsing on top of Draco, pinning him to the bed. The blonde didn't seem to mind as they both fought for their breath, their hearts racing at almost the same speed.

"Fuck," Blaise breathed, pulling out of Draco and rolling off to the side. Draco laughed, grinning breathlessly in agreement.

"We should do that more often," he stated, turning to look at his lover. Blaise didn't acknowledge him, only stared at the ceiling for a few moments before checking his watch.

"I have to go," he muttered, standing from the bed and dressing quickly. Draco sat up, frowning slightly.

"That's it?" he asked incredulously. "Is that what we've evolved to, babe? Fuck and run?"

"I'm late in getting back as it is."

"But, Blaise—"

"Just shut the fuck up!" Blaise screamed, glaring heatedly at the blonde. Draco fell silent, watching the other man finish dressing. His anger finally surfaced as Blaise headed for the door.

"Fine, go then! But don't expect me to let you back in!" He stood, his anger burning through his veins like fire. "I've put up with this shit for too long, Blaise. From now on, you can find someone else to be your fuck-buddy. We're done here." Blaise turned on him and in an instant Draco was pinned against the wall, Blaise's hand grasping his throat.

"It's not over until I say it is!" Blaise hissed. Draco grasped at his wrist, fighting to pull Blaise's hand from his throat. "I'm in charge of this arrangement—got it?! I call the shots!" Draco nodded weakly, and Blaise released him, adding an extra shove that pushed Draco to the ground. He gripped the blonde's hair, pulling his head up to press their lips together in a searing kiss before he left the room. Draco stared after him, a mixture of anger and confusion flowing through him.

* * *

**Author Note:**

Okay, so, obviously this is going to be a darker fic. It's going to be very different from what I'm used to writing, but I hope it turns out well. I'm going to need a lot of constructive criticism from you guys because I want to make sure I write this baby to the best of my abilities. I came up with this plot-line and it seemed so _brilliant. _I don't want my ignorance/poor writing to mess it up. So, any advice and comments you can give will be gladly welcome.

Thanks to all of you.

_Cara Nicole Luvitz_


	2. Speeding Up The Octaves

Back at Hogwarts again. In a way, this was good. Harry welcomed the escape from Privet Drive. There were, however, certain drawbacks to returning to the school. Here it would be harder to find privacy. Here, his self comfort would be harder to achieve.

He made it nearly an entire week, which was really saying something. And then it became too much. He practically ran up the stairs to the dorms after the final bell. He tossed his bag carelessly on his bed before dropping to his knees beside his trunk. Harry dug to the bottom, shifting aside robes and old parchment as he uncovered the box with his hidden treasures. Glancing around him to be sure no one would see, he opened the lid, sighing in relief at the glint of the light on the metal. He pulled the blade from its resting place, slipping it into his pocket. And then, dodging Seamus on his way through the common room, he headed for the loo.

***

Draco sat at one of the tables in the Slytherin common room, only half concentrating on his Herbology assignment. The door to the boys' dorm opened, and his mood worsened even more as Blaise entered the common room.

"There you are, babe," the dark boy cooed, smirking as he came to stand behind Draco. Draco shuddered slightly as Blaise wrapped an arm around his shoulders, kissing his temple. It didn't go unnoticed. "Cold, love?" Blaise whispered, his breath hot across the blonde's skin. "Come into the bedroom. We'll find a way to warm you up."

"No thanks," Draco mumbled. "I've got homework." Blaise gripped his shoulder, and Draco cried out in pain as the taller boy whipped him around.

"What did I tell you?" he hissed. "I make the rules! And I said to come into the bedroom." Draco looked at him with fear in his eyes, and nodded weakly before following the other boy into the dorms.


	3. Broken

Draco moved down the darkened hallway towards the boy's loo on the fifth floor. He wanted to get as far away from the Slytherin common room—and from Blaise—as he could. Things weren't going the way he wanted them to. But Blaise loved him, right? 'Yes,' Draco decided. 'He loves me. And I love him.'

He turned towards the bathroom and pushed open the door, his jaw dropping as he stared in horror at the sight before him. Blood mingled with water on the floor. In the far corner, curled up in a ball, was Harry Potter with his wrists bleeding. A razor blade lay just beside his pale hand.

"What the hell have you done, Potter?" Draco whispered before rushing forward to check Harry's pulse. He was still alive, thankfully. Draco grabbed a handful of papers from beside the nearest sink and wetted them, wiping the blood from Harry's arm. Harry stirred, looking tiredly up at the blonde.

"Malfoy?" he asked weakly. Draco shook his head as he rinsed the papers and returned to his task.

"You are one stupid fuck, Potter." Draco paused as he wiped the last bit of blood from the Gryffindor's skin. Dozens of small scars resembling the cuts lined Harry's arm. Draco brushed his fingers over them before looking up at the other boy. "How long have you been doing this?" Harry pulled his arm away.

"It's none of your business, Malfoy," he hissed. He picked up his blade, pocketed it, and left the bathroom without giving Draco a second glance. The Slytherin wasn't about to be deterred so easily. He followed the brunette into the corridor, jogging to catch up with him.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Potter."

"What the fuck do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked, turning on him. "Why do you even care?"

"Because I do! No one should feel they have to hurt themselves."

"Sod off."

"I can't. I'm involved now, so you're just going to have to tell me."

Harry turned to face him, utter confusion playing across his features. Why was Malfoy trying to help him? Why did he even give a flying fuck? Malfoy was the most selfish bastard he had ever met. And yet, as Harry glanced up into those liquid silver eyes, he could see the genuine concern reflecting back at him. In that moment, Harry felt so weak, so tired. He dropped to his knees, too exhausted to stand. He felt Malfoy's hands on him, maneuvering him to a sitting position against the cold stone wall.

"Tell me what's going on, Potter," Malfoy said, his voice distant as if it were coming to Harry from a dream. He felt warm, gentle hands wiping away tears he hadn't known he'd cried. Malfoy's hand gripped his arm, pulling him upright. "Someone's coming," he whispered, leading Harry away from the bathroom towards an empty classroom across the hall.

He set Harry down by the desk, closing the door and sealing it with a few good locking charms. Draco turned, moving to kneel beside Harry once more. The Gryffindor was shivering violently—and Draco was sure it wasn't from the cold.

Tears were streaming down Harry's face, coming fast and hard now as he gasped for breath against his sobs. It was such an odd moment for Draco. He had always thought of Potter as strong. He'd have to be, wouldn't he, with all life was dealing him? Draco had never seen him cry before. On impulse, Draco pulled the boy into his arms, holding him tight and letting Potter sob into his chest.

Harry was shocked for a moment when he first felt Malfoy's arms around him, but in less than an instant he had melted into the embrace, clutching at the blonde's robes. It was there in the arms of the enemy that Harry let himself go, let himself break down completely. He cried harder in those moments than he had in months.


	4. A Beautiful Lie

Rain pelted the windows, running down the pains in rivulets like tears. The sky beyond was dark with thick storm clouds. They blocked the light of the moon and stars, leaving the world below in an unrelenting darkness.

A fire burned in the hearth, casting shadows about the walls as the flames dance to the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the glass. Draco stared hard at the unfinished essay before him, desperately trying to chase away the lingering nightmare that had woke him.

Blaise had been waiting for him when he'd returned to the common room. He accused Draco of purposely avoiding him, even of cheating on him. Draco denied the accusations, and for that he was punished.

Draco raised a tentative hand to his face, his fingers brushing his cheek where he knew a bruise had formed. The spot was tender, and he winced as he pressed a little too hard. He resolved never to let anyone know. Blaise hadn't meant to hurt him, had he? No. Blaise loved him.

Draco pulled out his wand, coming to stand before the mirror above the mantle. Placing the cool tip of the wand against his cheek, Draco muttered a spell. Immediately the blue-black bruise disappeared, hidden behind a well practiced glamour. No one would learn of Blaise's outburst, and Draco would do his best to forget.

* * *

Harry Potter was confused. He watched Draco Malfoy all through breakfast, trying to discover what it was that was different about the blonde. He still looked the same: same golden hair falling in his eyes, which were the same silver-ray they had always been. Yet something was indeed very different.

The old Malfoy wouldn't have helped him. The old Malfoy wouldn't have comforted him while he broke down. The old Malfoy would have laughed in his face. The old Malfoy would have told the world that Harry Potter was weak. This new Malfoy was a mystery, one Harry found himself desperately longing to figure out.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Alright, short chapter--I know. But I came up with this at school today and loved it too much to muck it up with useless jibber-jabber. More soon. I just got the Halfblood Prince soundtrack, and it is bringing forth my muse. I've suddenly got so many ideas that it's getting hard to write them down fast enough. Also, I'm over halfway finished with the finale of "Deluded". I know many of you are looking forward to the ending--as am I. I promise there will be more up soon for you all to read.

Love,

_Cara Nicole Luvitz_


	5. Right Where You Want Me

It was after midnight. The moon shone brightly through the window, illuminating the pale white scars that patterned Harry's arms. He ran his fingers over them, tracing each one carefully. They were getting harder to hide. There were so many now, he was beginning to run out of space. He hated himself—for the way his life had panned out, and for being weak enough to let it hurt him.

He pulled the blade from his pocket and watched the pale moonlight reflect off it, making it shine. He set the blade to his skin and reopened one of the scars. He sighed in relief as the blood trickled slowly down his arm. The really was the only way to make his self-hate disappear, even if it was only for a few hours. In the end, it always came back, often with more force than ever before. His pain would multiply until he couldn't take it anymore. He would go for the sweet comfort of blood, relishing in the kiss of the blade upon his skin. Each time the pain and hate would increase, and each time Harry would cut a little bit deeper.

Harry leaned his head back against the cool stone wall and let his blood flow from his veins, taking the pain along with it. A sound reached his ears, cutting through the silence of the room. Someone was coming down the stairs. Harry drew his wand, quietly whispering the incantation that would heal his arm and clear away the blood. In a flash, he'd returned both the blade and his wand to his pocket, shaking down his sleeve in the same moment.

He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as he watched Crookshanks descend the last few steps.

"You scared me," Harry whispered. The cat let out a soft meow before leaping up into Harry's lap. Harry scratched behind the cat's ears as he looked out across the moonlit grounds.

* * *

The bruises were multiplying. If it wasn't for his practice with glamours, Draco's situation would have been discovered by now. He never took the glamour off these days. He couldn't stand the sight of himself in the mirror. He hated himself for angering Blaise. He should show him more respect. Blaise loved him, after all. That wasn't an easy thing to do.

Despite the knowledge that it was wrong, Draco couldn't help but think of Potter. He was worried about the Gryffindor, though he hated to admit it. Potter's condition was psychological, one that would be hard to fix. He would have to be willing to change, to get help. Draco knew he didn't have what it would take to help Potter. The situation called for someone with more experience. A professor? No. If he were in Potter's place, he wouldn't appreciate being sold out.

Potter was trusting him with this secret. He couldn't betray that trust without living with guilt for the rest of his life. He would bury the secret deep, and, meanwhile, would try to help Potter himself. He only hoped Blaise would understand, even if Draco was cheating on him in some way. He didn't think he could handle many more fights…


End file.
